American Medicine: I survived the death knell thanks to the devil.

Arjun Patel.

Lynn picked it up, glanced at it, and put it in his pocket.

"No rush," Grant said. "Contact me when you've thought it through."

He called out in Hindi towards the kitchen, which probably meant "pay the bill."

The proprietress smiled and waved her hand, pointing to Grant and then to the kitchen, implying that the meal was on the house.

Grant didn't refuse; he simply took a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and placed it under the plate as a tip.

Lynn also stood up.

"Thank you for your hospitality."

"polite."

Grant waved to him, picked up Lassie's cup again, and enjoyed his afternoon nap like an ordinary middle-aged man.

Lynn pushed open the door and went out.

Outside, the Manhattan afternoon sun shines.

……

Before merging the car onto the outer ring road, Sachi moved the half-smoked cigar from the right corner of his mouth to the left.

Lynn noticed this action.

It's not a habit, it's a professional reflex. I deliberately keep my left hand free.

"You well-behaved Asian kids rarely come to slums like this, right?"

"rare."

Lynn was very honest. If he hadn't been reborn, he would have only been to America once before. Now he was already quite used to life here, although he was still not quite used to some of the human aspects.

Sachi swerved past a speeding motorcycle and turned his gaze back to the front.

He only spoke when the streetlights began to thin out.

"When you come to a place like this, there are a few rules you have to follow. Don't ask why, you'll understand later."

"First rule: Don't make eye contact with teenagers."

"Secondly, don't suddenly put your hand into your pocket on the street, even if you just want to take out your phone."

"Thirdly, walk in the middle of the corridor, don't walk along the wall, and don't stand at the door. Doorways are ambush points, and the wall is the route for people to escape."

"Article Four..."

He paused for a moment. "You're not a local. They'll know as soon as you walk in. So don't pretend. Pretending won't help; it'll only make people dislike you."

As the car exited the highway, the road surface began to deteriorate, with more and more potholes appearing, and half of the shop signs along the street were destroyed.

Lynn saw a woman in pajamas standing on the steps of the convenience store, holding a child in her arms, talking to the store owner in Spanish, seemingly about the weekend weather.

Three teenagers were leaning against a parked car nearby.

The oldest looked no more than seventeen years old, with his hat brim pulled low, an unlit marijuana cigarette dangling from his mouth, and tattoos peeking out from his ankles.

He saw Lynn sitting in the passenger seat, glanced at her again, then turned his head back and said something to his companion, and the three of them laughed.

Further ahead, a man sat on the ground with his back against a fire hydrant, his sleeves rolled up, revealing his arms covered in needle marks.

He stared blankly ahead, like a piece of rotten wood.

Sachi glanced at the rearview mirror and said calmly.

"Back then, when we were conducting reconnaissance in the outskirts of Iraq, the environment was similar to this."

"What's the difference?"

"I think the people there have more dignity."

The car was parked on the side of a parallel street, and the two walked.

The pharmacy was located in the middle of a row of low shops. The storefront was small, and the opening hours were handwritten on the glass window in crooked black marker.

There used to be a chain pharmacy called CVS next door. When it closed, they didn't even bother to take down the sign. The edges of the letters were rusted, like a row of discolored teeth.

There's a doorbell.

Sachi pressed it.

The indicator light for the overhead camera was on and remained lit.

About twenty seconds later, a calm voice with a slight accent came through the walkie-talkie.

"It's closed."

Sachi took the cigar from his lips and waved the business card Lynn had given him.

"Mr. Patel, someone important sent us."

Silence again.

Then the voice on the walkie-talkie turned to Lynn, as if knowing who the camera had captured.

"doctor."

"exist."

Can patients allergic to penicillin use cephalosporins?

Lynn glanced at the camera.

"It depends on the type of allergy. If it's an immediate-onset, immunoglobulin E-mediated allergic reaction, and there's a history of shock or laryngeal edema, all beta-lactams should be avoided."

"For delayed-onset rashes, most cephalosporins can be used, but adrenaline should be kept on hand for monitoring."

"The cross-reaction probability of cephalosporins with different side chain structures is less than one percent."

There was a three-second pause.

"Come in."

The door lock made a clicking sound.

The store was dimly lit, and the shelves were stocked with over-the-counter cold medicine, bandages, and thermometers—all the cheapest items, with labels printed by hand.

The medicine cabinet is at the very back, covering the entire wall, and it's all locked.

Behind the glass, you can vaguely see neatly arranged prescription drugs, in alphabetical order, without any disorder.

Behind the counter was a thick bulletproof glass panel, which is standard equipment in pharmacies in the South Bronx.

A man was standing behind the glass.

He was around thirty-five years old, with a well-proportioned figure, neat black hair, and always kept the second button of his shirt fastened, with straight creases.

His skin was dark brown, and his eyes were calm, like a desk without wrinkles.

He peered at Lynn from behind the glass for about four seconds.

"I am Arjun Patel, and you are younger than I expected."

Arjun placed her hand on the counter, turned around, and walked towards the innermost unmarked door.

"Come with me."

Satchel walked behind Lynn and put the cigar back in his mouth.

He glanced at the shelves, then at the corner, then at the exit—all these actions combined took no more than two seconds.

This is his professional habit.

Behind the door is a flight of stairs leading down to a large open space.

Arjun stopped at the first step.

"He stayed up there."

It refers to Sachi.

Sachi stopped.

With a cigar dangling from his lips, he had his hands in his coat pockets, like a loaded but unraised gun.

He didn't speak, he just stood there, looking at Lynn, ignoring Arjun.

"He's my assistant," Lynn said.

He didn't bring Cassie here; her family needs her.

With his own "Pistol Mastery - Advanced" and "Adrenaline Burst - Basic" skills, plus Sachi, he has a certain ability to protect himself.

She was still just a child who hadn't grown up.

Arjun glanced at Lynn, but didn't move aside immediately. His gaze lingered on Satch's face for two seconds.

Sachi slowly took his hand out of his pocket, opened it to show the other person that there was nothing there, and then took a step forward unhurriedly.

"Mr. Patel, I spent over a decade in frontline service and served as a battlefield medic twice."

Sachi's voice carried a relaxed quality unique to veterans who had seen bloodshed.

"There are only two of us, don't we even have that much guts?"

Arjun did not answer.

He simply tilted his head slightly.

In the darkness, two figures emerged from the shadows on either side of the staircase.

There were two men in dark overalls standing there with their hands hanging down.

But at their waists, the muzzles of two MP5 submachine guns were pointed diagonally at the ground, and the safety was off.